


The Strength of Carrying

by flinchflower



Series: Slash Me Twice [88]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Psychic Abilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 05:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 88: Magazine.  Sam recovers from his vision with Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Strength of Carrying

**Author's Note:**

> Copyright notice: I hold the copyright for Mistress Tess & Tessera, original characters, and multiple storylines associated with her. Someday (hopefully sooner than later) you'll see her in a series of novels, I ask that at this time others refrain from use of the character or venue without express permission. She is allowed to play in fanfic, I just request that I know about it. Frankly, I hesitate to post any of the fics with her in them, it's always a struggle... but... here we are. Once the novels are under contract - I may have to take everything with her in them down, hence the warning about borrowing the character.

Once Sam’s relayed those important bits of information, Jim grabs up the phone to start making the phone calls, and John and Dean don’t say a word to one another or any one else. They just hold Sam up between them, walk him to the bedroom. Tess is minorly frustrated with the action, but follows them anyways. The two men are surprisingly gentle, laying the 6’4” length of pain down on the bed, Dean curling up so he can cradle Sam’s head in his lap, John positioning himself so that he can touch both boys.

It’s moments like this when he wants the two of them to be small enough again that he can hold both of them, envelop them in his embrace completely, both at the same time.

Bobby teases him that if they meet the right demon, it could happen.

He’s at a loss for anything to say, and then Tess is there, filling up the silence as she assesses Sam. John and Dean tune out the questions she’s asking. They’ve all heard them so many times before, it’s a wonder that they’re effective. John should really ask Tess about that sometime, it’s beyond even his experience in ‘Nam.

Not that he ever thought down there in the jungle that he’d come back stateside, spend the five fucking happiest years of his existence, and then be thrown back into a bloody war again, collecting more scars as he goes, having to watch his babies fight along side of him, because it’s their war too, not his, and there’s some cliché about that, he can’t remember it right now, and maybe he shouldn’t...

He turns his attention back to his baby boy. It’s patently obvious that the only reason Sam’s voice is even approaching civil is the fact that his father’s right there, John thinks he might slip otherwise. He wishes the boy would, this time. Sam always picks the most inconvenient of times to play the tough guy.

And now that he’s older, it’s even more obvious when it happens, because Dean turns into a hovering mother hen when the boy gets that way. Irony at it’s best.

Tess looks up, about to say something, she even takes in a breath as if to speak, and then she’s looking at the three of them.

“Tess?”

“I’d tell the two of you to leave him be, let him sleep so he can heal up some, but I don’t think either of you’d obey, and I always did say I’d never put you over my knee, John."

There’s a snort from Sam, and John looks at his youngest boy with a smile.

“Sense of humor still intact,” he says to Dean. “Can’t be that bad off.”

“I could tickle him,” Dean suggests, and Sam tries to groan, but it peters out into a pitiful whimper.

“Be ok if I get up for a minute, Sammy?”

“Slow,” says the boy, and John knows how much pain the kid’s in. The muscle spasms leave him aching for hours, though it’s nothing permanent, and tired for a day or two. He’s gone less time than he thought, Tess meets him just outside the bathroom, hands him a couple of washcloths, cold and damp, and a bowl to put them in when they’re through.

Dean takes them from him, and John lets it go. He supposes he’s spent enough of Sam’s life cleaning up bloody noses and wiping away fever sweat, Dean can take a turn here and there without him objecting. Gently, he massages Sam’s arms – he had seen the muscles straining in the boy’s forearms, biceps this time. And from the look on Sam’s face, he’s passing out soon – really, the sooner the better.

They get a little more out of him, as they get him cleaned up. The vision isn’t immediate, maybe two weeks into the future, and there’s others involved – Ash and Ellen and Bobby, and they discuss moving on. Well, at least, Dean and John do, with a little input from Sam. They’ll stay here to recover, then move on to Bobby, pick him up, and then on to the Roadhouse. It’ll be interesting.

Sam’s not sure what to think or do, other than the fact that he can’t accomplish much of either, wonders how John and Dean are going to take another couple days of him recovering. He’s sick of it, he’s not some fucking fragile flower that can’t leave the hothouse, and that’s what Tessera is starting to feel like, to him. They haven’t played at all here, this time, been too focused.

He’s been quiet for a while, face clean, though nothing will wipe away the lines of pain, not for a while. John starts to ease up, and then the boy’s hand tightens.

“Stay, Dad,” comes the whisper.

He knows he has to. They’re too tentative, the two of them, that old wound not healed enough for him to go. “Maybe let me open the door, Sammy, so they know I can answer questions.”

“No. Dean can go – he just gets twitchy after a while.”

John looks at his oldest son with worry – wondering how he’s going to take that, but the boy seems fine.

John doesn’t know what Dean heard. 

_Sorry, big brother, but it’s a daddy moment. And if you call me a pussy, I’ll sit on you when I’m up to it._

But the answer his oldest boy gives clues him in, thankfully, because he didn’t need another worry.

“Sure thing, you giant pain in the ass. Just remember he won’t let you have whiskey like I do,” he says and saunters out.

John splutters for a second. “Sam, you can’t-“ He just barely makes a start before he catches the corner of Sammy’s mouth turn up.

“Brats, both of you,” he grumbles, but he’s pulling a quilt over Sam, as he says it. And then, “Oughta take both of you over my knee before bed every night just to make sure we cover the crap you pull that I don’t catch,” he says as he lays down, pulling Sam into his arms.

He’s surprised to feel Sam cuddle into him, then realizes that this too, is probably part of the “no bullshit” promise Sam made them, to be clear and honest about what’s happening, what he needs. The emotions and realizations are clicking into place, like bullets into the chamber of a gun from the magazine, and he inadvertently squeezes a little too tight, holding onto the kid.

But that’s something you never apologize for.

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack - Bon Jovi - Thank You For Loving Me


End file.
